


Crimson and Ivory

by lemon_cake



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-09-13 21:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16900395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_cake/pseuds/lemon_cake
Summary: Jon Targaryen - bastard son of King Rhaegar Targaryen - may have been base by birth, but no man could ever claim that there was a man more honourable, more loyal, alive in the Seven Kingdoms. There was no man that King Aegon trusted more.Until he betrayed him.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tale of Tristan and Iseult.

Chapter One

King Aegon’s court was alight with whispers. The news that Lord Frey has raised his banners against his liege lord, and by extension the crown, was the topic of every hissed conversation in the throne room. It was no secret that the Freys were ambitious but no one expected such treachery after years of peace and prosperity in the Seven Kingdoms. 

“This is the beginning of war. I tell you.” Whispered one particularly corpulent lord to another. 

“Surely the Freys can’t be acting alone in this. They’re hardly astute enough to have come up with this alone.” Came the hushed reply.

“Well it’s no secret that Tywin Lannister was displeased with the King’s rejection of his offer of a betrothal to his granddaughter. He’ll have had a hand in this somehow. Getting the Freys to do his dirty work for him, whilst his hands are kept clean.” 

“You can hardly blame his Grace? We’ve all heard the rumours. Would you want to marry that abomination of - ”

“Incest? I hardly believe that to be an issue to a Targaryen.”

“Enough! His Grace is here.” His companion hushed him. 

Silence fell in the throne room. King Aegon had made his way onto the raised dais and had taken his place upon the Iron Throne. To his left stood various members of his small council, but to his right stood the one man that the King trusted above all others. The Hand of the King, and his bastard brother – Jon. Jon Targaryen may have been base by birth, but no one could ever claim that there was a man more honourable, more loyal, alive in Westeros. This however, did not stop the lords and ladies of Westeros from looking down on Jon. 

“Of all the noblemen in Westeros. His grace chooses a bastard.” They had muttered with contempt when Jon was announced as Aegon’s Hand. 

“I’d sooner listen to a Flea Bottom whore than the living proof of Rhaegar Targaryen’s shame.”

The story of Jon’s parentage was a story known by all. A bastard born of the then Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. When Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Lyanna Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty, the smiles swiftly died on the faces of the lords and ladies gathered at the tourney taking place at Harrenhal. The Dornish were incensed at the slight against their queen. The Stormlands raised its banners against the crown over the insult shown to their lord, Robert, betrothed of Lyanna. Robert was deeply infatuated with her but this had not stopped him visiting the beds of others, if the rumours were to be believed. Least of all, no one anticipated that the very next day, Lyanna would abscond with the Prince, dragging Westeros into chaos. 

If it wasn’t for Rhaegar’s defeat of Robert at the Trident, in a single combat duel, who knew how many other lives would have been lost in perhaps years of bloodshed. 

Queen Elia Martell passed not two moons after Rhaegar’s victory. Some say she died of a broken heart, for her king had soon gotten Lyanna with child. Some say she had never recovered from the birth of Aegon, which had left her bedridden for six moons, and unable to bear another child.

Lyanna would later die giving life to Rhaegar’s son. Rhaegar was said to never have been the same again, growing colder and more distant until he passed from a fever not long after Aegon had reached maturity. 

Although Jon and Aegon were in many ways two sides of the same coin, their faith in one another was unyielding. Aegon was fair and mercurial, as much as Jon was dark and brooding. Whilst Aegon had the amethyst eyes of his Targaryen ancestors, Jon stared with the grey eyes of his Northern mother. Aegon was whispered to spend his nights with a different woman every night, lying with noble virgin daughters of high lords and beautiful whores from the brothels of Flea Bottom. Jon however was rumoured to be as chaste as any man of the Night’s Watch. 

Whilst Rhaegar was both a skilled musician and adept warrior, it would seem he had only passed on half of these respective sides of his nature to each son. What ability Aegon lacked in physical combat, he more than made up in his skill at playing the harp and writing poetry. Instead, it was Jon who led his brother’s armies. And so, Jon was tasked by his brother and king to ride to the Riverlands with the King’s men to assist the Tullys and deal with the Freys in a manner befitting their treachery.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and lovely comments so far!

Jon

Jon reached out of the darkness and into the light. He had known pain before. He remembered playing and stumbling in the Red Keep as a child with Aegon, scraping his knees bloody only to get up and dust himself off. He had no mother to soothe him with gentle, loving words and a kiss upon his head. He remembered the bruising and the aching from his years of training with the greatest knights in the land. Ser Barristan had been a firm and thorough teacher and Jon always felt the aftermath of those lessons, hours after they had been taught. 

One memory stood tall above all others though. Jon could still recall the pain of the fiery kiss on his left palm. He remembered his father placing his hand over the fire in his solar, the way the flames had reflected and danced in his eyes. The way they had filled with disappointment as Jon’s hand had reddened and blistered. 

Jon had never felt like a true dragon. Not like his father, not like his brother. The smooth scarring on his palm, like melted wax, served as a constant reminder of how he did not truly belong in King’s Landing, of how he was not a true Targaryen but simply a bastard masquerading as one. At night, he dreamt of a godswood full of bone-white trees and blood red leaves. So much larger than the one in King’s Landing. Sometimes he would see a pack of wolves, running through the woods. Sometimes he saw his dreams through the eyes of a wolf, felt himself running free in the glacial breeze. 

Yet as Jon lay there in the mud, the pain he felt now was nothing compared to any pain he had ever experienced before. He could feel the warmth of his blood leaving the wound in his shoulder in burning ribbons, soaking through his jerkin and into the mud. Jon cursed the Frey son of a bitch that had managed to strike him down whilst Jon’s own sword had sunk deep into the man’s chest. 

But the darkness surrounded him again, dragging him down into its murky depths once more.

*****

“There’s another one here.” Called a young Riverlands squire to his master.

“Sling him in with the rest. We don’t have time to say a prayer and sing a song for every corpse we find today.”

“But Ser, look at that armour. He must be highborn!”

“So what? That didn’t do him any good today did it. All men bleed the same, doesn’t matter who their father’s father was. He’s probably some Tully bannerman.” The Knight was growing weary and impatient with the young lad. 

“But if he’s a Tully, shouldn’t we at least send him off the proper way? I don’t want to be on the wrong side of the Gods.”

“Do as you please boy, if you’ve got so much time on your hands. But I’m having that armour.” No good to him now the knight thought to himself. 

*****  
Sansa 

Sansa couldn’t help but inwardly curse the poor timing of her visit to her mother’s family in the Riverlands, although true ladies never cursed of course. What was meant to be an opportunity to spend time with her aging lord grandfather and to meet potential suitors was overshadowed by the Frey uprising. Even so, a part of Sansa was thankful to be away from the Vale. Her aunt was a cold, distant woman. She was content to ignore Sansa’s existence as much as possible. Her uncle however, was a different tale. She tried hard not to think about the looks he gave her, the accidental brushes of hands upon her when her aunt’s attention was otherwise focused on her precious Sweetrobin. Her stomach curled in fear at the thought of her aunt’s reaction should she ever find out. The Moon Door was enough to make any Vale knight think twice. 

Petyr’s behaviour towards her had been anything but familial. “You’re so like your mother, but you’re more beautiful than she ever was. In another life, you might have been my child, sweet Sansa.” He sighed into her ear whilst his hand palmed at the space beneath her breast. 

Whilst the uprising had raged on, Sansa had begged her uncle to allow her to help with the wounded. But Lord Edmure had instead lectured her on her position and the unfitting nature of a highborn maid such as herself, tending to the wounded. Sansa knew he was trying to protect her in his own pompous way, but she longed to be of use. Her brother’s wife Talisa had been a healer before wedding Robb and she continued to act as such even whilst being Lady of Winterfell. Talisa had shared some of her wisdom with her good sister. She had stressed the importance of not just settling for a life of planning dances and masquerades to Sansa. 

As a child, this was all Sansa had longed for. Attending tourneys and being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty whilst spending evenings dancing with handsome knights and noble lords at feasts. All she had ever wanted was to marry a high lord and live in the beautiful south. However, the untimely death of her father and her mother had soon hardened Sansa. Although she had fulfilled her childhood wish of living in the South, surrounded by the Knights of the Vale as the ward of her aunt, she now longed for the ice-cold bite of Northern winds. She ached to be running and playing in the Godswood again with her siblings whilst her mother and father watched. 

Sansa needed to escape the stone walls of Riverrun, even if only for a short while. She didn’t intend to be gone long enough to be missed, she just needed to feel the breeze run through her long auburn hair and dip her toes in the cool stream. She deftly made her way down to the river bank without being noticed and proceeded to remove her stockings. 

Then she spotted him. 

The first thing Sansa noticed was the blood. There was so much of it. Dark crimson. He was lying in what appeared to be a makeshift boat, surrounded by damp kindling. It would seem whoever had set him in the boat had intended to give him a true Tully send off – in a funeral pyre – but it had not lit properly and the current had carried the boat away, only to wash up here. She tentatively placed her hand on the man’s shoulder, to inspect what appeared to have been the source of the bleeding, and likely the man’s death. 

As her hand made contact with his ruined flesh, the corpse’s eyes sprang open. Grey eyes – so very much like her father’s. He was still alive.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so lovely to read your comments!

Chapter Three

Sansa

“I don’t understand – you’re dead – I – ” exclaimed Sansa. 

She was full of disbelief. She had been so sure that he was dead. His skin had been dull, pale, lifeless. There had been no telling sign of the rising and falling of his chest. The man grasped her wrist loosely. 

“Help – me – ” He pleaded with a pained expression, before slumping back and reverting back to his previous condition. 

Sansa leapt to her feet and ran back towards the castle. She made her way to the Maester’s chambers. He was out tending to the wounded Tully bannermen and would not be able to question why the Lord’s granddaughter would need to be grabbing supplies; bandages, herbs, a needle and thread, a flask of wine. She sped back down to the river bank and began to put Talisa’s guidance to good use at last. 

Her good sister had taught her well. As Sansa cleaned the man’s wound, he stirred but did not awaken as he had before. She had always been skilled with a needle. Her childhood had been spent making so many pretty things. Sewing his wound closed was not too arduous a task. She wondered who he was and how he had ended up here. His armour had been removed, perhaps stolen by soldiers scouring the battlefield. Though was it truly stealing if they believed the man dead and not in need of it anymore? There was no clear indication of which house this man had fought for. No sigil, no house colours. Sansa’s gut twisted in fear at the idea that this man might be a Frey. Surely not. Only now did she begin to worry about what a Frey soldier might do to a highborn lady like her, the granddaughter of Lord Hoster Tully, no less. 

Finally, as she applied a healing poultice and wrapped his wound in clean linen bandages, her patient stirred once more. 

*****

Jon

As Jon opened his eyes, he could see crimson. Crimson and ivory. Was he back in the godswood? Was he home? But as his eyes focused he realised that he was staring at a young woman. A very beautiful young woman. 

“I expect that you are hungry?” Queried the woman. 

Jon feebly nodded in the positive. 

“I’ve brought food and clean water. I can feed you if you need me to. When you feel ready, I will go and fetch help and we can get you to the castle to rest and recover.” She continued. 

“No! You mustn’t – I mean – there’s no need. I just need some rest.” Jon panicked. He had no idea of where this lady’s allegiances lied. She could be a Frey for all he knew. It would be a cruel twist of fate to survive his injury only to be put to the sword later. 

“Where are we?” He questioned, adding a quick “my lady”, remembering his courtesies.

“We are just outside Riverrun, Ser.” She replied, feeding him small chunks of bread as she did so. 

“Are you a Tully?”

“No, I’m – I serve the Tullys. I am handmaid to Lord Tully’s granddaughter… I serve the Lady Sansa.” She informed him, looking hesitant to give him this information. The name Sansa sounded familiar to him. Wasn’t that the name of one of his Northern cousins? His mother’s family? Wasn’t she kin to the Lord of Riverrun?

Perhaps he would be safe there after all. But Jon remembered the disdain shown to him by so many lords. For now, perhaps it is better to stay away. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. 

“Alayne, Ser. Alayne of House - - Baelish.” She replied after a pause. It wasn’t a family name Jon was overly familiar with. 

“That’s a pretty name, my lady.” Jon remembered Aegon telling him to always compliment a lady on her name. 

“Thank you, Ser. And your name?” 

“My name is Jon. Just Jon, my lady.”

“Please, Just Jon. Call me Alayne” She smiled back at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

After he was finished being fed, like a babe in their mother’s arms, he drifted off. Back into the darkness, but this time he looked forward to the bright crimson light he might see again upon awakening. 

*****

Sansa

Sansa watched Jon closely as he slept. She wasn’t sure why she had lied about her identity. Perhaps she knew deep down that she could not trust this stranger yet. Yet he didn’t seem a threat to her. There had been something in his eyes, those grey eyes so very much like her fathers.

She had never been this close to a man - who was not considered family - whilst alone before. She observed the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tell-tale sign that he was still alive. He had black, unruly curls upon his head, and a dark beard covered his lower jaw. He was coated in mud and blood and debris from the battlefield. She would need to bring him fresh clothes. He will need to wash. Sansa blushed at the thought of this stranger, naked in the stream. 

She could not stay much longer. She knew she would be missed before long. 

She gently nudged him awake. 

“Forgive me Ser, but I must return to the castle. Are you certain that you won’t come with me. Surely you will be more comfortable?” She appealed. The colour had begun to return to his cheeks already but Sansa still worried for his health.

“I would rather no one know that I am here. And call me Jon, please.” He pleaded with a worried look in his grey eyes. He seemed anxious, but why?

“Why, Jon? What do you have to fear from the Tullys? Do you mean to tell me that you are a Frey – a traitor -” 

“Please, Alayne. I swear to you, I am no Frey. But I wish to keep my identity secret. I can’t explain why. But please – trust me.” He pleaded. 

Sansa understood that all too well, and chose not to pursue the subject. She too had not been truthful about her identity for her own reasons. “Very well. There’s a small lodge just down the way here. Lord Tully used it when he would come fishing. But it’s been unused for some time now. If you insist on staying outside of the castle, will you at least take shelter there. I can bring you more supplies and fresh clothing in the morning.”

Jon nodded. “Thank you, Alayne. I already owe you so much.”

Sansa reluctantly made her way back to the castle, leaving Jon in the safety of her grandfather’s old fishing lodge. It wasn’t luxurious by any standard but it was warm once a fire was roaring in the grate and it would shelter him from the cold night. That night she tossed and turned whilst sleep evaded her. She couldn’t help but wonder who this man truly was. Why did it feel like there was something he wasn’t telling her? 

That night as sleep finally claimed her, she dreamt of calm pools of grey and swirls of soft black.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Jon

They soon fell into a pattern. Alayne would bring Jon supplies and spend as much time with him as possible. Jon fretted that Alayne was risking her position by spending so much time with him. The days began to turn into weeks and Jon felt stronger by the day. Alayne claimed that he would soon be well enough to return home. Jon was surprised that this information did not bring him the joy he expected. Because leaving Riverrun, meant leaving Alayne. He could not pretend that this didn’t disappoint him. 

Alayne had told Jon about the happy childhood she had experienced back in the North before coming South with the Lady Sansa. It sounded so very different to his own. Jon had deduced from the little information Alayne had given him, that this Sansa was in fact his cousin from the North. He was intrigued to know that a member of his mother’s family was so close but he could not risk a visit to Riverrun. The sister of the Warden of the North would surely not welcome bastard kin with open arms. 

“Doesn’t your lady miss you whilst you are here with me, Alayne?” Jon asked one particularly warm day as they sat proper up against a tree near the stream. 

“My lady? Oh - the Lady Sansa? She is most kind. She doesn’t ask that much of me and therefore I have all the time to spend with you.” She beamed at him. 

Jon had never been particularly entranced by the women of Aegon’s court. He found them vain and false. When someone did ever show any interest in him, it was only to gain access to his brother. Jon remembered the time that Margaery Tyrell - daughter of the Warden of the South and a stunning beauty - had found him in the godswood and had tossed her hair and smiled widely at him. Jon had almost been tempted, if it hadn’t have been for the comments she had made. 

“It must be so wonderful to serve such a noble king as His Grace. Tell me, what is he like? What makes him happy?” She had asked in her saccharine voice. Jon knew straight away that this was another climber, seeking to use him to get close to his brother. 

Alayne was different to any other woman he had met. She was caring and obviously not above getting her hands dirty. She did not balk at the sight of blood like he imagined the noble ladies of King’s Landing would. 

It also hadn’t escaped Jon’s notice that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever looked upon. Her auburn hair appeared to change colour in the light. He could see copper and gold in the warm strands, but the crimson stood out the most. He longed to stroke the apple of her cheek and learn whether it was as soft as it looked. She was more than just a beautiful maiden though. She was clearly intelligent and well read.

Alayne closed the book she had just been reading to him. It was the tale of Florian and Jonquil. She had told him it was a favourite of hers. It wasn’t a story that Jon would have chosen normally but he had to admit that he was secretly enjoying the romantic tale. 

Jon braced himself and reached his hand out to brush a loose strand of crimson, finding his courage and caressing her cheek as he did so. Alayne inhaled sharply, causing Jon to snatch back his hand. 

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – I – forgive me!” Jon panicked. How could he be so foolish. 

“I – Jon - There’s nothing to forgive.”

This time, it was Alayne who reached out and placed her hand on Jon’s cheek. 

“Jon, I know this isn’t very proper - but I have to tell you. I don’t want you to leave.” She whispered, staring at him, not breaking eye contact. 

“I don’t want to leave either.” And he leaned in and gently brushed his lips against hers. She instantly returned the kiss and captured his lips with hers. Jon ran his hand through her auburn strands, marvelling at how soft they were. 

Then Jon abruptly broke the kiss. 

“Come with me.” He begged. 

“Where to?”

“To King’s Landing. Come with me.” He knew this was sudden but he had never been so sure of anything in his life. There was something about her. He knew if he didn’t ask her to come with him that he would regret it for as long as he lived. 

“King’s Landing? You live in the Capital! Why didn’t you say? Are you one of the King’s men?” Alayne looked alarmed. 

He rested his forehead against hers. He knew he needed to tell her the truth. How could he ask her to join him at court if she didn’t know what she was letting herself in for. Being the wife of a bastard, even a royal one, was no easy ordeal. 

“I’m a Targaryen – My name is Jon Targaryen. I’m the King’s bastard brother.” He whispered it to her. Like the shameful secret it was. 

“I don’t – I – you’re my - you’re the Hand of the King!” 

“Aye, but still a bastard.”

“A man who the king trusts more than anyone else from what I’ve heard. Why didn’t you say?”

“Because people treat you very differently when you’re like me. People use me to gain favour with my brother. They ignore me, because they believe I represent my father’s shame. Or they show me contempt, because my brother has honoured me with power.” He declared with venom. His anger was not directed at her but at his situation. 

“But why wouldn’t you come to Riverrun? We are loyal to the crown – ”

“I don’t know the Tullys. For all I know, they might not want a bastard in their halls. Not even a royal one. I hardly believe that your Lady Sansa would be thrilled at the idea of her handmaid consorting with the likes of me! Kin or no kin.”

Alayne looked furious at his comments.

“They’re not like that. She’s not like that. She’s not some prissy airhead. She has suffered and she knows better than to base her judgments on – ”

Jon captured her lips with his own in a bruising kiss. She kissed him back with equal ferocity. Jon had never felt so warm and alive. He carded his fingers through her crimson tresses. Like spun silk, he thought to himself.

“Come with me. Please.” He pleaded.

“Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

*****

Sansa

Sansa paced back and forth in her chambers. It was a wonder that she hadn’t worn the soles of her silken shoes away. The ghost of Jon’s lips remained on her own. She still had a whole day before they were to leave. Jon had outlined the plan. She was to sneak out under the cover of darkness tonight and meet him by the lodge. They would go the stables and take two horses and leave straight away. Sansa would leave a note to her uncle and grandfather explaining that she was eloping, that she was safe. She would leave another addressed to her brother Robb, asking him not to be disappointed with her. She knew Robb would understand, he had married for love himself. 

Sansa could only take a few belongings with her. All her beautiful embroidered silk dresses would have to remain. She would take her simplest dresses to avoid unwanted attention on the Kingsroad. She did however pack some of her jewellery to be sold along the way. They would need shelter and provisions for the ride ahead. Jon had lost anything of worth during the battle. 

Sansa couldn’t wait to be with Jon. She would happily live as Alayne for the rest of her days if it meant she could be with Jon. But she would have to tell him the truth about her identity. Once they were married and it was too late for anyone to stop them. He would understand. 

The idea of living at court excited her, but not as much as it would have thrilled her younger self. She just wanted to be with Jon. She had grown to love him passionately during their short time together. To think, she had suspected him of being a Frey when truly he was the King’s trusted Hand. Her own Aunt Lyanna’s son. 

A knock came at her chamber door and interrupted her thoughts. 

“My lady. Your presence is required in the great hall. You have a visitor.” Came the voice of one of the guards. 

She anxiously made her way down the great hall. What if it was Jon? Had he changed his mind, or perhaps he wants to meet his family? After all, he believes his cousin is staying here. What if he’s decided to meet her? 

But as soon as she saw him – standing there looking so small next to her uncle Edmure – her heart sank into her stomach.

“My dear niece Sansa. It is pleasing to see you looking so well. Your aunt and I have been so worried. We heard what happened with the Freys. We think it’s best that you return with me to the Vale as soon as possible.” Petyr proclaimed with a flash in his devious eyes. 

Petyr wrapped his arms around Sansa in an unwanted embrace. She felt one hand dip low on her back and rest where it should not. She felt repulsed by his touch. 

“I am perfectly safe here, uncle. I am in no hurry to leave – we should – ” 

“Nonsense, my child. We are to leave this afternoon. The sooner we have you safe back in the Eyrie, the better.” His eyes glinted at her. 

Sansa wanted nothing more in that moment than to claw those eyes out. 

“But uncle, I – ” 

“Sansa. You will return to your rooms at once and pack. Now. I don’t want to waste precious travelling time. The sooner we are back in the Eyrie, where you belong with me - and your aunt, the better.”

Once back in the privacy of her chambers, Sansa almost broke down in tears of despair. Instead, she steeled herself and began to think. Tears would not help her now. Think. She needed to get a message to Jon. She could ask one of the servants, swear them to secrecy, promise them payment as reward for their discretion. 

She wanted to be with Jon. She had to be with Jon. 

Sansa picked up a piece of parchment and began to write.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Jon

He had waited through the night for her. 

He had waited through the following day and night.

And the next. 

Finally, on the fourth day, he had left. He admitted to himself what he had known all along. He was nothing more than a bastard. And no woman would every truly want him. Especially a woman like Alayne. 

And so, he left the lodge, left the Riverlands, and made his way back to King’s Landing, visiting holdfasts on his way to obtain supplies and rest. The cold manner of his hosts reminded him again and again why someone like Alayne could not want him.   
He arrived in King’s Landing, with a fresh gaping hole in his chest to mirror the healed one in his shoulder. 

*****

His brother’s court were certainly shocked to see him return. The lords and ladies did not hide their gasps. They did nothing to conceal their snide comments at his appearance. 

Aegon however was overjoyed. Jon could always count on his brother to show him true affection. Despite their differences, he knew there was love between them.

“Brother, we feared the worse. We thought you gone. Westeros would truly have been lost without you. Why did you not send word? I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to see you alive and well. Well, in need of a haircut, a bath and a good meal too perhaps.” His brother laughed at him in good humour. 

“Aye. I’ll certainly take that offer of a bath.”

*****

Days turned into weeks. Weeks rolled into months. And in a way, it was like he had never left King’s Landing. 

Except for her. 

She had infected everything.

He could barely stomach praying to his mother’s gods in the godswood anymore. The sight of the crimson and ivory of the weirwood trees only made him think of her.

One evening, Aegon organised for a troop from Braavos to perform various stories to the court. Jon walked out during their interpretation of Florian and Jonquil. It was still too raw.

And whenever he caught sight of the scarred flesh of his shoulder, he was reminded of her. How she had healed him. Made him whole again. Only to rip out his heart. 

It served as a daily reminder of how he was nothing. 

*****

Aegon

They had dealt with the immediate threat of the Freys and Aegon was grateful once again for the support of his brother. However, the tension at court only seemed to rise. Whispers concerning Tywin Lannister continued. Yet Aegon was no fool; he knew better than to outright accuse the man. Tywin Lannister had no shortage of gold. Oaths meant nothing to some men. Lord Tywin’s gold would be enough to influence many to his cause.

He knew that the strongest alliances were made through marriage. 

Aegon had long put off marrying. He was young, there was plenty of time to make heirs he had always said. But Aegon, was no fool. He knew he needed to marry well, and soon. 

There was one lady in particular who would suit his needs. 

Lady Sansa of House Stark was said to be a great beauty. Sister to the Warden of the North, granddaughter to the Lord of Riverrun and Cousin to the young Warden of the East. She would make the perfect bride. Her links to three great families would strengthen the ties between the royal house and the rest of Westeros. 

A tourney had just been announced in honour of her name day. Aegon did not relish the prospect of travelling for such a time to somewhere as distant as the Vale, even if it was for someone as lovely as the Lady Sansa. It did not seem wise to be away from the Capital at a time like this. Instead, the decision was made to send Jon. Aegon knew he could trust Jon to deliver his proposal of marriage. Of course she would accept. Every girl dreams of being queen, do they not? He knew he would be a good husband. He would shower her with affection and see that she would want for nothing. He could not promise that she would be the only woman to warm his bed but he would not publicly shame and insult her, the way his father had his mother. He knew that a noble lady like Sansa would know her duty. 

When Aegon announced his plans to his brother, he did not understand Jon’s reluctance. Did he not see that this would be a fine match? That it would solve their problems? Tywin Lannister would need dealing with soon. 

But his brother knew his duty and left to obtain Aegon’s bride for him.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sansa

Sansa’s time with Jon had begun to feel like a distant dream. It did not seem possible that she could have met someone like him. He was everything she had ever wanted, but he was so very far away now. 

At night he filled her dreams. Some of them more scandalous than others. More than once Sansa had let her hand wander beneath the sheets in search of release. She could remember how his lips had felt on hers. How hungry he had seemed to be for her. She blushed at the memory. 

She had toyed with the idea of sending him letters but she knew that Petyr read every piece of correspondence that arrived or left the Eyrie. She could not trust the servants, they were all Petyr’s creatures.

She prayed that he had received her note. That he knew she was safe in the Eyrie. That he could find her there. 

If that was what he even wanted. 

When Petyr had announced that they were to host a tourney in honour of her name day, she could not bring herself to muster even the slightest bit of enthusiasm. The old Sansa would have been overjoyed. But she was not the same Sansa she had been before her parents’ deaths. 

Sansa’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in.” She called. 

Her aunt entered, looking pleased with herself.

“Niece, your uncle and I have been talking. We think it is time you are wed. You are old enough and a beauty like you won’t find it difficult to find a suitable husband.” Lysa explained.

“But surely it is up to Robb when I am wed. He is the head of my house.”

“Nonsense. Look at the match he made. That woman was hardly fit to follow in my sister’s footsteps as Lady of Winterfell. We can’t trust his judgement with something as important as this. We’ve already written to him. He will agree, I’m sure of that.”

“But-“

“Enough. It is decided. We will be taking offers from suitors during the tourney. That was why your uncle and I arranged it in the first place.” Lysa interrupted. And with that, she turned on her heel and left the room. 

Sansa sank down onto a chair, she was numb. I’m running out of time to reach him, she thought. 

*****  
Jon

Jon wasn’t sure what would be more painful. Seeing Alayne again after she had ripped his heart out or not seeing her at all. He had no idea if she was even still in the service of Lady Sansa. If she was then she would likely follow her lady to King’s Landing. Jon could end up seeing her every day. Living in torture. 

Jon had tried to forget her but it was futile. Every night when he dreamt of the godswood, he was reminded of the red of her hair and the ivory of her skin.

It had not been a straightforward journey to reach the Vale but he had made it in sufficient time. The tourney was not due to start for two days. Jon was to enter the joust and would still have time to observe his opponents.

He arrived at the Eyrie, his horse was dealt with by the stable boys and he was promptly led to his chambers. As the representative of the king, he was given the very best rooms, or so he was told by the haughty steward who had led him there. He was to be taken to the great hall shortly to be formally introduced to his hosts.

Jon found a basin of water and proceeded to clean off some of the dust and dirt he had acquired whilst travelling. As he was escorted into the great hall, his stomach began to twist into knots. Not knowing whether he would see her again or not was agony.

“Lord Baelish, Lady Arryn, may I present, Jon Targaryen, the Hand of the King.” Proclaimed the steward to those gathered in the hall.

Jon looked up at the raised dais. Stood there was a short man with a dark goatee and untrustworthy eyes who he assumed must be Lord Baelish, Lady Arryn’s second husband. Hadn’t Alayne said that she was a Baelish. Perhaps she was kin to this Lord. 

Beside him was Lady Arryn, short, stout and whose red hair was a pale imitation of the beautiful crimson that had been Alayne’s hair.

And then he saw her. Next to a small, sickly looking boy who was clutching a wooden knight in his hand. 

It was her.

Alayne.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Jon

Why would Alayne be standing there with his hosts? It made no sense, unless –

“Welcome, Lord Hand. We are honoured that you would join us to celebrate our beloved niece’s name day. My lord, may I introduce Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” Announced Baelish, gesturing to the woman he knew as Alayne, who curtseyed flawlessly. 

Realisation slowly dawned for Jon. Alayne did not serve Sansa Stark. She was Sansa Stark. Why had she lied, was anything about her true? Certainly not any feelings she had shown for Jon. 

Jon remembered his courtesies and forced out a reply. “Thank you, Lord Baelish, Lady Arryn, for welcoming me into your home. I look forward to partaking in the festivities.” He dared not make eye contact with Alayne. 

No, not Alayne. Sansa. 

She had told him all about her life in the North before coming South with her supposed lady. Told him about the games she would play with her siblings in the godswood. How the loss of her parents still felt so raw to her. Was anything she had told him true? 

Her absence that night finally made sense. A noble, highborn lady like her would never have stooped so low as to be with a bastard. He was nothing more than mud on the underside of a fine silken shoe to someone like her. She had obviously only agreed to his plan to avoid the awkwardness of rejection. 

He was a fool.

“Lord Hand, would you please join me in my solar. We have much to discuss.” Baelish requested. There was something about Baelish’s manner that did not sit well with Jon. Something in his eyes that hinted at a questionable nature. Jon had learned to read people whilst living in court. People rarely said what they meant there. 

Jon knew exactly what was on Baelish’s mind. He wanted to know what he would be getting from his brother in return for Sansa. 

“Of course my Lord. Lead the way.”

*****  
Sansa

Sansa was numb. The gods could be so cruel. He was here. At the Eyrie. 

Maybe he’s here for me, she had thought. Maybe the songs would be true for once and the handsome knight will carry her away and they would live happily ever after.

But life was not a song. She remembered the look of shock that had passed over his face when he had seen her up there with her aunt and uncle. He couldn’t possibly have known that she would be there. He knew her to be nothing more than a handmaid.

Maybe the gods weren’t so cruel after all. Maybe fate had brought Jon here, to give them another chance. Maybe her aunt had been right, she would find her husband here at the tourney. Sansa cared not an ounce that he was a bastard. His brother obviously held in high esteem. And Sansa knew from the short time they had spent together that Jon was a good man. Exactly the type of man her father would have wanted for her; brave, gentle, strong. 

What Sansa couldn’t understand was the look in his eyes when he saw her. A look of pure regret and dejection. He had refused to meet her eye after that. Only now did it dawn on Sansa that perhaps he had not received her message. That maybe he believed that she had not wanted him. 

There was a knock at her door, and before she had time to reply, the heavy oak door swung open and Petyr entered. 

“My sweet, I have such joyous news to share with you. Please, sit.”

Sansa complied. “What is it, uncle?”

“Your aunt shared our plan with you, did she not? Our plan to find you a husband worthy of your station and bloodline. Well my sweet, I can assure you that we have not disappointed in delivering that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A most worthy suitor has offered his hand. He’s one of many but by far the best of them.”

Could it be? Was that why Jon was here? Had he known her true identity all along and wanted her still? Had he journeyed here to ask for her hand. Her heart swelled at the prospect.

“Uncle, please?”

“I’ve told you, you can call me Petyr when it is just us two.” He smiled at her with that devious look she knew so well now. That look that made her stomach curl and her body tense. “The pleasure of your hand in marriage is requested by His Grace, no less.”

“His Grace? Surely not- I am not worthy of such a match.”

“Nonsense, my sweet. You are kin to no less than three of Westeros’ great houses. Many a man would kill for your hand. And here you stand with the chance to join with the greatest house of them all. Surely it is everything a girl dreams of. You will be queen. You will bear heirs for your lord husband and see your son sit the Iron Throne.”

He was right, the young Sansa would have been overjoyed at the idea of marrying into the royal family. And here she was, being offered the chance to marry the most powerful man in Westeros. But Sansa was no longer a child.

“Uncle – Petyr – I fear this is a mistake. I am no queen. I don’t want this, I - ”

“Enough.” Petyr had grown firm. “This is not an offer where you have a choice. Rejecting the king holds great consequences. Do you wish for your brother to be shamed?”

“No, but - ”

“Do you think I don’t know what this is about? Do you think I don’t know what happened at Riverrun?” Petyr placed his hand into the deep pocket of his cloak and withdrew a piece of parchment. Sansa immediately recognised her handwriting. Her heart sank.

“How could you possibly have that?” Sansa was stunned. She had been so sure of the young girl she had entrusted with her message. She had even given her one of her jewelled hairpins as reward for her silence. 

“It was brought to me by a concerned party. You think your absence from the castle went unnoticed? No. The serving girl who brought me this was keen for me to know all about your little visits down to the stream, down to that hut. Of course, she had no idea of the true identity of who you were meeting. She suspected an inappropriate dalliance, that you were lowing yourself to the position of a common whore.”

Sansa was speechless. Petyr had known all along. And Jon, he must have thought she had abandoned him. No wonder he had looked at her that way. 

“You did well, my sweet. The Hand of the King would not have been the worst choice for a husband, but compared to a king – well, there’s no contest.” Petyr almost sounded impressed.

“I didn’t know who he was at first. It makes no difference to me.”

“But it makes all the difference to me. You will marry Aegon. You will be a loyal and dutiful wife, just like your mother would have wanted. And when the time is right, you will send for me to join you at court. I have plans you see. The time will come when the king will realise that a bastard cannot do a lord’s job. When that time arrives, you will have the attention of your king, the adoration of your husband and you will pave the way for me to take his brother’s place. Do you know what they used to say about Tywin Lannister? It was said that when he was Hand, he was the most powerful man in Westeros. I won’t ever sit on the Iron Throne. But I could be the power behind it.”

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me do this. Robb won’t stand for this. I - ” Petyr silenced her with a finger to her lips. She fought back the urge to bite it, hard.

“And how will you tell him? You have no way of getting word to him without my knowledge of it. You cannot refuse a king. This is happening, Sansa. This is your future.” Petyr stared at her intently, he was too close. He moved his hand to brush her cheek. Sansa stiffened. 

“You’ve become very beautiful, niece. Almost too beautiful to wait.”

And with that, Petyr turned on his heel and left the room. 

Sansa fell to her knees, and though she was not ashamed to admit it, but she began to sob.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Jon

Jon had found his private meeting with the man known by many as ‘Littlefinger’ to be an unpleasant encounter. He did not trust him. He did not like the way he had discussed his brother’s offer of marriage as little more than a business proposal. He did not like the way that Alayne – Sansa – was discussed as nothing more than a commodity. 

He might have tried to hide his intentions behind flowery language and false compliments, but Jon knew what he was after. This was a man who quite clearly craved power. There would be a time when he would expect a position from his brother in return for delivering him a bride of Sansa’s standing. 

He was sickened by his own behaviour. Jon might have hated what Sansa did to him - as much as he understood it – but here he was sat, discussing her future like she was a prize to be won. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place, take Sansa and head somewhere they could be together. They could cross the Narrow Sea, make their fortune in the Free Cities. They could head North and he could take Sansa home. 

But Jon knew these thoughts were pointless. He knew he would never betray his brother like that. Lord Baelish had promised the unparalleled support of the Knights of the Vale should his brother ever find need of them. With the rumours of Tywin Lannister’s plans increasing, Jon feared that they would be required sooner rather than later. Besides, Sansa had made it perfectly clear that she did not wish to go anywhere with him. 

The day of the tourney had arrived and Jon worried little about his opponents in the joust. Beating the Baratheon (or Lannister, if you chose to believe the rumours, which Jon was inclined to) spawn would not be a challenge. Joffrey Baratheon was a green, simpering fool. He had proclaimed loudly enough for anyone to hear about how he could not wait to crown the Lady Sansa as his Queen of Love and Beauty and win her hand. He had also made it known to anyone who would listen that he planned to find out “whether that red hair of hers could be found not just on her pretty little head”. Jon planned to make sure he suffered for that comment.

Another opponent was the Hardyng boy, the heir to the Eyrie should anything befall the delicate young lord Robin. He was rumoured to have one bastard already and another on the way. Jon knew his brother was far from chaste but Harrold Hardyng made Aegon look like Baelor the Blessed in comparison. Hardyng’s chambers were not far from his own and Jon had heard quite clearly how the young lord had spent his evening. Jon doubted he was particularly rested for today’s events. 

As Jon had expected, he had seen Joffrey off without much effort at all on his behalf. After that, it had not taken much skill to knock the Greyjoy boy off his steed. Hardyng had proved little more than a minor obstacle and Jon was soon into the final tilt, facing Loras Tyrell – Knight of the Flowers. 

Loras Tyrell was exactly the type of man that Jon imagined Sansa would be content with. Fair, handsome, the perfect knight. A man of noble birth and high rank. Everything Jon was not. 

It was a close match but Jon finally bested Ser Loras, cementing his victory. He was given the crown of roses by Lady Arryn and he set off on his steed to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty for all to see. Jon knew he had little choice in this. He was there as his brother’s representative and soon everyone would know of the betrothal between Aegon Targaryen and Sansa Stark. It would be considered a slight to choose anyone else. Jon told himself that this was not a decision he was making for himself, and he almost succeeded in doing so. But as he lay the crown on her crimson tresses, he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to have her lips on his. What it might look like to see her wear that crown and nothing else. 

“I name my cousin, Sansa Stark, Queen of Love and Beauty, on behalf of my brother Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name.”

The gathered crowd broke out into applause but this did not stop him from hearing the whispers from lords close by.

“Sansa Stark, soon to be Queen of us all, from what I hear.”

“A shrewd move by His Grace. She’ll bring him plenty of swords.”

Sansa looked up at Jon with what might have been longing in her eyes. But he looked away. It was futile to even entertain the idea that Sansa held any affection for him. She had made her choice when she chose not to come. And what good would it do either of them now. She would soon belong to his brother. 

*****  
Sansa

Sansa usually loved feasts. She loved the music, the dancing, the food. She had even spotted her favourite lemon cakes, piled high on golden platters. Tonight, however, she could not stomach a single bite. The thought of her imminent departure to King’s Landing filled her with dread. She wanted to go home, back to the North where she truly belonged. She wanted to feel the icy wind bite at her face. She wanted to run once more in the godswood with her siblings. 

She also wanted him. Jon. 

He was avoiding her eye at every point. Even as he had placed the crown of roses upon her head - silently naming her as belonging to his brother already - she had hoped that he would finally look at her. Surely if he did, he would realise the truth. Understand without words how she felt for him. 

She needed to find a way to speak to him. 

She had been watching him all evening. Observed how he had kept to the edges of the hall, barely interacting with a soul. He was so serious, so brooding. 

If only he had received her letter. Things might be so different for her right now. Her uncle had announced her betrothal to the King at the feast. Whilst everyone had cheered and applauded, Sansa had noted how the smile on Jon’s face had never quite reached his eyes. 

Maybe he hated her. As far as he knew, Sansa had abandoned him. She needed to make things right. She was soon to be his good sister. As much as the thought tore at her heart, she needed him to not hate her. 

Sansa broke away from her thoughts when she noticed Jon leave the hall through a door that lead to the courtyard. Maybe now would be her chance. She swiftly followed. 

It was a bitterly cold evening. The nights were growing longer. Starks were always right – Winter is coming. Sansa cursed herself inwardly for not bringing a cloak. Then she spotted him.

He was leaning against a wall and looked to be deep in thought. She approached him, hesitantly. 

“Jon. Please, look at me.” She looked at him, silently beseeching him to face her. “Jon, I’m sorry I lied to you, I - ”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady.” Jon replied in a cold, emotionless tone. This wasn’t the Jon she knew. 

“But I did lie. I know you must hate me right now for - ”

“Hate you? Why would I hate you? I understand perfectly why you didn’t come. You realised who I was. What a life with me would entail and you couldn’t go through with it. Aye, I understand.”

“You understand nothing. I tried to get word to you but - ”

“But you couldn’t stomach the thought of lowering yourself to be with me. The high and mighty Sansa Stark couldn’t bear the idea of a bastard. You couldn’t - ”

But Jon did not get to finish, for Sansa had struck him across the face with her open palm. 

“How dare you. You know nothing.” And with that, Sansa ran from him, and back into the warm embrace of the great hall. 

Sansa cursed herself inwardly. That wasn’t how she wanted things to go. She wanted him to understand but his words had burned right through her. 

She locked eyes with Petyr. Both Jon and Sansa’s absences would not have escaped his noticed.

Petyr simply raised his goblet in a toast to her and smiled. Spite dancing in his wicked eyes.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Jon

Jon thanked the gods that the journey back to King’s Landing was not as long and arduous as the one away from it. Jon tried to block any thought of Sansa from his mind but at night, whilst waiting for sleep to capture him, his mind often wandered back to the night they had last spoken and the flash of hurt in her eyes at what he had said.

He had not meant to be so cold, but it was for the best. Whatever had been between them at Riverrun could not continue. She could never be anything more than his mother’s niece and his brother’s wife. She would soon be his queen. Jon ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of Sansa on Aegon’s arm, his mouth on hers, her crimson mingled with his brother’s silver upon a silk pillow. Seeing her every day would be torturous. But what could he do?

Life as the King’s bastard brother could have been very different. He owed so much to Aegon. Jon loved and respected his brother and would never betray him. 

Aegon embraced Jon upon his return to King’s Landing. 

“Tell me everything, brother. Is she as beautiful as they say? I’ve heard such tales about her beauty. What pleases her?” Aegon asked with enthusiasm. 

“Aye, she is a beauty, that is true. As for what pleases her, I cannot say. I know little of her.” The lie came easily to Jon because it did not feel like a lie. Had he ever truly known her? 

“No matter, I am sure she will not be a complicated creature. She will want for nothing and be a good and dutiful wife.”

“I believe she will make a fine queen, Your Grace.” Jon agreed. 

“Now tell me, did that uncle of hers give any futher indication of the support we will receive from the East?”

Jon was reminded that Sansa was little more than a bargaining tool. By marrying her, Aegon was securing the support of multiple houses in preparation against an attack from the West. 

“The Knights of the Vale are yours, should you require them. Along with the men of the North and Riverrun.”

“Excellent. Now then, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

*****  
Aegon

Aegon threw himself into wedding preparations. The last royal wedding had been that of his sister Rhaenys to their Dornish cousin Quentyn, some years before. The mood at court was souring and the capital could do with a celebration. He sought to make this a wedding to be remembered. 

His bride was due to arrive any day now. 

Aegon had known many women. Granted, some had been nothing more than passing fancies; a night of passion and a swift goodbye. He knew that some of them had expected more and he hated to disappoint, but he simply hadn’t been ready to choose a bride, to choose a queen. He knew that when he did it would need to be someone exceptional. They would be the mother of a new generation of dragons. Few women could be granted that honour.

Sometimes his liaisons were more long-lived. Margaery Tyrell had been a thrilling combination of passion and playfulness, and he had enjoyed their time together. However, Aegon could never rid himself of the nagging feeling that she was trying to manipulate him whilst in her presence. He wanted someone good-natured and serene as his queen. Passive but not meek. Beautiful but not vain. He did not see Margaery Tyrell, with her flirtatious, shrewd manner fitting this ideal. 

He knew she had been disappointed but Aegon had promised to be discrete about their time together and enable her still to make a good match. He had even offered to put in a good word for her with a lord or two. She had declined his offer and left his bed and court, deciding instead to return to Highgarden. 

He recalled the advances of Daenerys – his aunt, although he was in fact the elder of the two. She had spoken of the blood of the dragon, the creation of a new dynasty. Aegon would not deny that he had been tempted but then he remembered: “Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Aegon could still recall flashes of his grandfather from his childhood. The Mad King was nothing to aspire to. The dragon needed the support of the direwolf, the falcon, the kraken, to survive. 

His aunt had not taken his rejection well and had left the Capital not long after. The last he had heard, she had wed some horse lord in the Free Cities, and borne him a son. 

He had high hopes for the Lady Sansa. He just knew somehow that she would be different. 

*****  
Sansa

When Sansa had imagined life in King’s Landing, one thing she had not considered was the smell. It was difficult to put into words, something completely indescribable. 

Sansa had been escorted to the Capital by her uncle, a carefully selected group of knights from the Vale and a Septa. Petyr had taken no risks on their journey. Sansa was never left alone. The Septa remained with her, even as she bathed or made water. Perhaps her uncle feared that she might try to run away. He had nothing to fear; Jon did not want her. Sansa had already resigned herself to her impending marriage and the life she would now live. 

Sansa had received a letter from her brother before leaving the Vale, congratulating her on her impending marriage. “To be a queen, is every young girl’s dream, is it not”, he had written. Sansa discovered that she was soon to be an aunt, for Talisa was with child. Sansa envied her brother’s happiness, though she was full of joy for him. 

Upon her arrival at the Red Keep, she was soon led to her chambers where she was instructured by her uncle to freshen up and make herself presentable for the king. Sansa changed into a gown of scarlet, chosen by her uncle. “Fire and blood, Sansa. Those are to be your words now. Show his Grace that you know your place.” Petyr had told her. 

Sansa was led towards the great hall by a white cloaked member of the Kingsguard, accompanied by her uncle, and told to wait outside the throne room where she would be formally introduced to the king. The man she would marry. A man she did not know. 

The man’s whose bed she would share and whose heirs she would bear. 

The heavy wooden doors opened and Sansa was led into the great hall, followed closely by Petyr. 

“May I present the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Your Grace.” Announced Petyr, bowing in deference. 

Sansa curtseyed and looked up at the king from underneath her lashes. 

At first glance he did not resemble Jon at all. Instead of calm pools of grey, Sansa found purple amethysts twinkling back at her with gaiety. Instead of inky black curls, Sansa saw the poker straight silver hair of a Targaryen. Whilst Jon was brooding and serious, Aegon looked at her with amusement and warmth. 

However, when looking closely, Sansa could see the same gentle slope of Jon’s nose and the same round cupid’s bow of his lips. Sansa cursed herself inwardly for still thinking of Jon. This man was to be her lord husband. It did not matter what he looked like. 

“Welcome, my lady. I trust you had a pleasant journey? Will you do me the honour of joining me for supper this evening in my solar?” requested Aegon.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.” Replied Sansa.

And as she looked around the room, she was crestfallen, for she could see no sign of him.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Sansa

Sansa was led to the king’s solar by the same member of the Kingsguard who had taken her to the great hall. From the stories she had been told as a child, and the acknowledgments made by other members of the court, she deduced that this man was Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Her wonderings were confirmed by his Grace upon her arrival. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. You may leave us now.” The knight had taken his leave and left to assume his position, guarding the door to the solar. 

Sansa ate in near silence, whilst the king attempted to make conversation with her. 

“My lady, this must be very overwhelming for you.” The king asked with concern in his voice. 

Sansa remembered her lessons and replied. “I am honoured to be here, Your Grace.” 

“May I call you Sansa? We’re soon to be lord and wife, we should take this time to get to know one another. Tell me, what interests you? What do you enjoy?”

Sansa was not much accustomed to being asked what she liked. Few people cared about the interests of a woman, high born or not. The last time she had felt that someone was interested in her life had been… 

No. She would not think about him now.

“I enjoy sewing, Your Grace. I am quite skilled with a needle.” Both on fabric and flesh, she added silently in her head. There would be no need of her healing skills now, Sansa supposed. 

“A fine skill for a lady to possess. Perhaps you will make something for me?” 

“I would be honoured, Your Grace”. Gods, could she sound anymore dense. Was this to be her life now, feeling ‘honoured’ anytime her husband showed her any attention.

“Sansa, I know we do not know each other well yet, but I do want you to be happy here. I’m sure my brother conveyed my hope to you that our marriage be a happy one. A loving one?”

At the mention of Jon, Sansa’s stomach fluttered. 

“Your Grace’s Hand was most clear. I hope to serve you well and be a devoted wife and queen. 

“Excellent. I must say, my brother told me of your beauty, but it truly is a thing to be seen to be truly appreciated.” Aegon replied, smiling at her softly.

Jon had spoken of her beauty? What else had he said. 

“You brother is most kind, Your Grace.” Sansa forced out her response.

“My brother is very kind, indeed. The kindest, most loyal man I know. I would go as far as to say that I trust him with my life, above all others.”

“When does it please Your Grace, for us to be wed?” Sansa wished to change the subject, even if it meant risking looking like she was too eager. 

“Soon, my lady. Before the turn of the next moon. We still have plenty of time though to get to know one another. But now, it is time we both retired.” And with that, he rose and placed a gentle kiss upon her right hand, before calling for Ser Barristan to escort her back to her chambers. 

Jon

So far, Jon has managed to avoid seeing her. He had managed to avoid being at her announcement at court by claiming he had a meeting with a delegation from the Iron Bank. Aegon had invited him to be present at their supper that evening in the solar but Jon avoided this by coming down, most unexpectedly, with a severe ‘headache’.

However, he knew he would have to see her soon. He was the Hand of the King, and Aegon’s brother. He had responsibilities and duties, one of them being helping to arrange the wedding. Aegon had thrown himself into preparations but some of the more practical arrangements had been left to Jon. 

Aegon had requested that he meet him in his solar later this morning to discuss the wedding. As Jon knocked upon the heavy oak door, he breathed a deep sigh of frustration. 

“Come in brother.” Came Aegon’s reply to his knock.

“Your Grace, how may I assist you this morning?”

“Why so formal, brother? Are you still unwell, do you wish to meet later?” Aegon’s face frowned with concern. 

“I’m sorry, I just … I’m quite well. Let’s get this wedding sorted then.” 

“I must say brother, I’m quite taken with my bride. The Lady Sansa seems to be very … courteous. She’s clearly overwhelmed but that’s to be expected. The Capital is very different to life in the North and the Vale. I wonder, would you help her? Show her the ropes, as it were. I can’t be with her every minute and I don’t wish for her to feel anymore apprehensive than she already appears to be.”  
The Gods were playing with him. Jon knew he would have to see her but to be asked to actively seek her out and spend time with her. It was too much. 

“If that is your wish. But surely one of the ladies of the court would be better suited?”

“I would rather that she was guided by someone I trust. I know you are aware of my … interactions with some of the ladies of the court and I would rather that this did not cloud any rapport Sansa is to form with them. If you understand?”

Jon knew exactly what Aegon meant. His brother did not want Sansa to hear any of the sordid details of his affairs from his spurned lovers. Sansa was not stupid, she would soon understand Aegon’s nature. Jon did not think that Aegon would be cruel to Sansa, but he would never change when it came to his appetite. 

“Of course, brother. Anything you ask.” Jon forced out a smile. 

“I truly do think she will make me quite happy. She really is a beauty and in possession of a fine mind. A worthy mother of future dragons, don’t you think? Quite perfect.”

He’d rather not think about Sansa mothering Aegon’s children. 

Aegon was right, though. She was perfect.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Jon

It had only been a week since Sansa had arrived but it had felt like the longest week imaginable. Jon did as his brother had requested and kept an eye on Aegon’s betrothed, but he kept any conversation to the bare formalities. 

He had arranged for Lady Talla Tarly, sister of his friend Samwell to be a companion of sorts for her. His brother need not fear any unkind gossip to come from Talla’s mouth. Jon was certain that the girl did not have an unkind bone in her body. Thus far, Jon had kept Sansa busy via Talla with walks in the gardens and hours spent sewing in her solar. 

For Jon, it was the evening meal at court that was the hardest time to bear. Sansa was now seated at the high table, on Aegon’s left side, whilst Jon was seated to his right. Jon had to listen to every word of their conversations, listen to how his brother asked about her life, listen to the answers that Jon already knew. 

Jon remembered lying on the bank next to the river, staring at Sansa’s auburn waves and listening to her tales of the North. Feeling at peace in her serene presence. Staring at the graceful slope of her nose, the colour of her lips, the curve of her - 

“What do you think, brother?”

Jon was stunned out of his thoughts by Aegon’s question. “Forgive me, Your Grace. My mind was elsewhere. My thoughts on what?”

“Lady Sansa and I were just discussing the godswood here in King’s Landing. It is not somewhere I have visited often but seeing as you follow your mother’s gods, why don’t you accompany Lady Sansa there after supper so she may feel a little piece of home?” 

Him and Sansa. Alone. This was everything he had been avoiding. 

“If it is what Your Grace wishes.” Jon gritted his teeth and forced out his answer with a smile on his face. 

“If it is what my lady desires, then it is my wish.” Replied Aegon.

“Oh – I don’t wish to be a nuisance, Your Grace. I - ” Stuttered Sansa.

“Nonsense, my lady. It is my hope that you get to know my brother and love him as much as I do. Underneath all that brooding, he really is pleasant company.” Teased Aegon, with good intentioned humour.

Jon silently cursed. Oh, dear brother, if only you really knew. 

Sansa

Jon had offered Sansa his arm for her to take as they made their way to the godswood, but he had avoided her eye and made no attempt to converse. Well, she was not going to make all the effort here. If he wanted silence, then so be it, he could have it. 

The godswood here paled in comparison to the one back home. Although it did warm her to feel some sense of home, of normality, in this strange new place. Sansa ran her hand over the ivory white bark of the tree. The crimson leaves quivered softly in the evening breeze. Sansa shivered, as if she only now realised that she was cold. 

Jon cleared his throat and went to pass her his cloak.

“There’s no need, my lord. Forgive me, it is so much warmer here down South but I underestimated the evening chill.”

Jon stared at her, blankly. He was so cold, she couldn’t go on like this. They needed to speak frankly. 

“Jon, I’m sorry about the last time we were alone. I’m so sorry that I hit you. I was – I was too - ”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady.” Replied Jon. There was no warmth in his eyes.

“Is this how we are to be now? My lord and my lady? How are you able to be so cold? I thought we – well I thought you felt something for me? Clearly I was wrong.”

“My lady, I - ” 

“Say my name. Sansa. Say it.” Sansa was becoming increasingly frustrated. This could not go on. “Are you planning on avoiding me for the rest of our lives here? You’re so different. You’re so cold.” 

Jon stared at her for a long time. His jaw clenched. 

“What happened? What changed?” She continued. She had to get this off her chest. There were things that needed to be said. “I wanted to come with you, so very much. But my uncle arrived. I wrote you a letter. Did you not receive it? Well, clearly not. I - ”

“You don’t need to make excuses, my lady.” Jon finally spoke.

“Excuses? I’m telling you the truth, I wrote you a letter. I was going to come with you. Jon, I lo-”

“Enough. Sansa, we cannot do this.” Jon spat out the words.

Sansa could feel her eyes begin to well. She cursed herself for showing her despair so openly. Be steel, she told herself. 

“I love my brother. He has been nothing but good to me my whole life. My life could have been very different. I’m not going to betray him by speaking my feelings for his future wife aloud. My future queen.” Jon continued, but this time he spoke softly, sincerely. 

“Your feelings? You do feel for me then, the way I feel for you?” She couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her chest at his words. 

“Sansa, how I feel for you is irrelevant now. It became irrelevant the day I walked into the Eyrie and realised that you were not Alayne Baelish, but Sansa Stark.”

“Am I supposed to just ignore how I feel about you? Jon, I never wanted to lie to you, but I - ”

“Sansa, I understand why you lied to me. Aye, I won’t pretend that I wasn’t hurt but I lied to you too. I didn’t tell you who I truly was at first, so I do understand.”

Sansa could not stop the tears from streaming down her face now. “Jon, please. You must know. Just let me say it, just this once. I love - ”.

“Enough. I will not hurt my brother. You are going to marry Aegon. You are going to be his queen; a remarkable one. And that cuts me up inside, more than you will ever know.” Jon began to turn away. 

Sansa reached out her hand and grabbed his arm. “Don’t walk away from me. Please.” 

She moved her hand up his arm, over his shoulder, ran her fingers lightly up his neck, gently across his face and let it rest around the back of his head. She was breathing heavily now, staring at him, praying silently that he wouldn’t leave her, not just yet. 

Jon stared back at her, his eyes watching her intensely, full of fire. She closed her eyes and leant into him, she felt him inhale and mirror her movements. He stepped closer. Their mouths almost touching, she could feel his breath, warm upon her face. 

Snap. 

A twig broke beneath Jon’s feet. And with that, the moment was gone. Jon snapped back. The warmth in his eyes soon replaced with ice. 

“We cannot.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left her there.


End file.
